The Adventure Of An Unbound Dremora
by randomshtuffguy
Summary: After the Conjuration Ritual quest, the Unbound Dremora just chills on the roof. What if he actually couldn't return to Oblivion and Dagon? FIRST FANFIC
1. Chapter 1

Adventures of an Unbound Dremora

 _This story is based on the Conjuration Ritual Spell quest. I found it interesting the Unbound Dremora didn't return to Oblivion because Dagon was "less than pleased." I weaved this story based on the idea that he has to stay in Nirn until his feud with Dagon blew over._

 **DISCLAIMER: I know next to nothing about Elder Scrolls lore, and how Dremora/Daedra are supposed to act. I am basing this short/long story based on my experiences with them in the games, and what little I know of the lore. I am a Skyrim casual, and I have no experience with Arena, Daggerfall, Morrowind, Oblivion, or the DLC for Skyrim. You have been warned.**

"I have your rune. Lord Dagon is…less than pleased at its loss."

The Unbound Dremora practically yelled these words in his strange, otherworldly graveled voice. It was a rare occurrence when a Dremora was summoned to the mortal world to deliver a rune stone. He had dismissed it as a lack of ambition for achieving greater power, but he saw the beads of sweat present on the Dragonborn's face. It was difficult. And he was one of the weaker Daedra, an underling. For the foretold Dovakiin, he sure wasn't all that powerful…yet. He would have scoffed, if it weren't for the fear the powerful Redguard before him would bludgeon him back to Oblivion, where he would have to face Mehrunes Dagon himself. No, he needed to lay low in Nirn for the time being, wait for the whole thing to be forgotten.

The legendary Last Dovakiin began to walk away.

"Wait!"

Turning with a confused look, he stared at the summoned demon.

"Mortal. You have proved your worth by besting me in single combat-twice. Dagon is not pleased with my conduct, and I would not be welcome back in Oblivion for now. It is very demeaning of me to request this, but I cannot leave this small area of land."

The Dragonborn looked at the pentagram, and understood. With slight hesitation, he kicked over a candlestick, dispelling the ward's magic binding properties.. He walked away, without even a second thought. He couldn't dally. Someone in Falkreath needed a journal, after all, and who was he to deny such a request?

Tentatively taking a single step out of the carefully crafted ward, the Dremora was slightly relieved to not feel the heat of a thousand suns burning his ankle. Taking another step, he fully removed himself from the circle in which he was imprisoned until a few moments ago. Freedom…? For now, he was forced to reside in a world he had no control over. Attacking anything would be a poor decision. He could not necessarily be killed, but he had no desire to face his Prince quite yet, so banishment to Oblivion was a bad idea, and he didn't want to end up in a Soul Gem either. So for now the only options were to assimilate himself into society, or outcast himself far from mortal civilization. Groaning, the unholy abomination realized there was no real choice. While he would handle almost anything the mortal plane could throw at him, dragons were on the loose once more, and for all his dark combat prowess, he seriously doubted he had the capacity to handle even one, let alone multiple. No, he was forced to live amongst the puny mortals for now. Being unbound was a new experience. He was used to serving a master all the time, Dagon for the most part, but mortal conjurers on occasion as well. For a second, the thought crossed his mind to go back to the Dragonborn and ask him to take the demon with him. But the risk inherent in such a decision was too much, and the lesser daedra decided against it. It looked as though no choice remained but to try his best to mingle with the lesser mortals. Perhaps this…mages college would accept him.

Phinis, Master of Conjuration, stared with his mouth open.

"So you're saying he successfully summoned you and made you submit, had you obtain the rune, and just…let you go?! That has to be the most idiotic thing I have ever heard!"

A rumbling sound came from the Dremora, which Phinis would later realize was a sigh of exasperation.

"I am aware my presence is a potential threat in your eyes, and under any other circumstances I would agree with you. After I was done scraping your organs off my blade, that is. It was an unintelligent and shortsighted move to free me from the circle. Unfortunately for both of us, I am here to stay for now. My prince, Dagon, is very disappointed in my performance, and it is better if I hole up in this plane for now, waiting for things to settle down, and return to my master."

The door to the Hall of Countenance burst open, and the Archmage rushed in, spells at the ready, with the expert tutors following closely behind.

"What is the meaning of this, Daedra?! Why do you not return to Oblivion!?"

The Unbound Dremora roared in an echoed voice. "I NEED NOT EXPLAIN MYSELF TO YOU, MORTALS! ASK YOUR CONJURER IF YOU ARE SO DESPERATE TO LEARN OF MY REASONING!"

Storming past the mages of Winterhold College, he entered the courtyard. The Dovakiin stood in the center.

"Why do you stay? Your business is required elsewhere, is it not, mortal?" The Dremora noted the warrior stood in a battle position…but not towards him. A great shadow passed overhead…

Very little surprised the Archmage of Winterhold. He had stayed at the College for a long while. Meeting with the Psijic Order monk who was looking for the new arrival was one. Witnessing the Last Dragonborn and a Unbound Dremora attack an ancient dragon in conjunction was another.

The imposing Redguard smashed at the dragon's head with the legendary Mace of Molag Bal. The cruel spikes adorning the beautifully crafted weapon ripped apart flesh, scale, and bones alike as they dug into the legs of the dragon, over and over, with a sickly green enchantment serving only to improve the strikes.

"YOL TUR SHUUL!"

The ancient power of the Thu'um wreathed the dragon in flames and scorched the very earth. The winged behemoth returned the favor, as the ebony armor of the Dragonborn was assaulted by burning flames of the same like.

An Ice Atronach struck with its gigantic icicle fists anywhere the dragon was not aware of, digging deep through the skin and piercing internal organs, courtesy of the resident conjurer. Faralda of the Destruction school did not hesitate to demonstrate her proficiency in the art, as when the dragon took off, crackling bolts of lighting struck the wings, forcing the legendary beast to land once more. Tolfdir and Carlotte tried their hardest to contribute., utilizing Alteration and Restoration to buff and heal their allies. But truly the most interesting spectacle was the Dremora. His Daedric sword flashed in the air, wreathed in a devilish flame. The mighty scales of the dragon melted off, exposing weak, yielding flesh into which the hellish warrior plunged his blade, and twisted it to tear muscle and tendon. On other occasions, the Archmage had been exposed to their kind, but never before had he seen one fight with such…vigor. Before long, he realized what it was. All of the others he had seen were fighting for a master, and felt only bloodlust. But this one fought for a reason most immortals would never feel. He did not fight on behalf of anyone but himself.

An immortal Daedra, capable of traveling to Oblivion and back, was fighting for survival.

 **A/N: Hello everyone who happened to read this all the way through! This is my first fanfic, so I truly hope it is up to par. Any type of criticism is accepted! I may or may not continue this…thing, depending on the response I get. Until then…be seeing you!**


	2. Outside Winterhold

Adventures of an Unbound Dremora: Settlement

Survival.

An alien concept to the Dremora, yet a necessary component of his "life," if it could be called that, upon Nirn. More specifically, Tamriel. As he wandered down the broken path to the College, after being expelled from the grounds by Phinis, he couldn't help but notice what a huge bother it was. How could these mortals find time to worry about anything else, if they always need to remember not to fall off ledges more than a couple feet high? Fragile and pathetic. Lorkhan and Kynareth were foolish to allow such a plane to exist.

A name would be helpful, if not necessary, to continue. Unfortunately, true names were only given to the upper echelons of Dremora, and he had no such status. So he had to settle for a more mundane one. The question is, what exactly?

Upon reaching the end of the trail, he noticed the entire town of Winterhold had their weapons drawn. A guard approached him, shield raised. "You should not be here, voidwalker."

The devil-like creature snapped its head up in response. "I suppose I will use that, then. Very well. My mortal, temporary name will be Voidwalker."

The crowd had thinned out, most civilians cautiously retreating inside their house. The guards, and a few muscle-bound men, were the only ones left, uneasily lofting their weapons. Logically, they should attack the Daedra immediately, but it seemed not to be aggressive. It hadn't even drawn its weapon.

Noticing their hesitation, the unfathomable being - tentatively titled "Voidwalker" - rasped, "I have no quarrel with you, mortals. I do not wish conflict any more than you, as much as your frail bodies tempt me. However, you would do well to leave me in peace, or that may change."

With unease clear in their attitudes, the guards backed off, sheathing their weapons. Some went to the barracks, while some went inside the longhouse of the Jarl. But none still stood in Voidwalker's way, so he continued once more. Parents ushered their children inside, and beggars cast fearful glances at the being. In hushed voices, people in an alley conversed about the College's possible involvement. Winterhold was restless and on edge. It was like having a dragon in the city.

All of this meaningless gossip and drivel was of no consequence to Voidwalker. If nobody stood in its way, it had no reason to fight. Of course, the staring and hushed voices were relatively distracting, but the Dremora cared little. It considered lodging at the inn, but reasoned that it could protect itself. Besides, it needed no sleep. So it tarried very little in the dilapidated city, and set about on a path to…somewhere.

The town shared a collective sigh of relief after the Daedra left. The Jarl considered questioning the College about their possible involvement with the incident, but decided against it. Nobody was harmed, and no property was destroyed, so why poke the nest of proverbial hornets? In the garrison, Winterhold guards discussed defending the town from further Oblivion-spawn, but could not come to a satisfying conclusion. How do you defend against such a monster, anyways? Walls and towers may help against dragons, but a powerful Daedra could topple anything of the sort. They gave up, and the town forgot the incident in mere weeks.

Few stood in the way of the Oblivion spawn. Once or twice, an idiotic troll or an especially territorial bear would make the deadly mistake of crossing his path. Their blood sizzled and boiled on his infernal blade, from the recesses of Oblivion. Everything in the mortal plane was flimsy and fragile, not just the humans. The earth itself crumbled beneath his feet every time he took a step.

Snapping back to reality, Voidwalker noticed he had been walking up a mountain subconsciously. It was snowing constantly, and when he reached the summit, he looked over the horizon and saw the glimmer of the city he had just left. A place where he could have protection would be ideal, so he would not be taken by surprise anytime soon.

So deep in thought was the Dremora that he did not notice the looming wall of ancient script, or the utterly monstrous dragon perched on top.

"You. Will. BLEED!"

The sound of blade against scale echoed through the night as a mighty duel took place upon a blizzard ridden mountain. The snow glistened on the fangs of the dragon, as he lunged for the smaller body, hoping for a lucky strike. Thinking quickly, Voidwalker held off his strike until the last moment, then lashed out at the back of the ancient being's mouth. Roaring in pain, the blood dragon flinched away from the ebony blade, fighting an unnatural fire within its mouth. The Dremora quickly took the opportunity to slash at the kneecap of the reeling dragon. The Oblivion forged blade cut with a devilish sharpness and the fires of the Void itself, causing the wyrm to take off by reflex. Gritting its teeth, the lesser Daedra hurled a rock in a pathetic attempt to ground the dragon once more. Despite his unworldly strength, it shattered pathetically against the glistening scales. The dragon once more perched upon the Word Wall, and breathed a mighty stream of frost. The eyes of the Dremora were blinded, and its mortal form began failing as the simplest movements began painful…blistering cold covered the armor and the soft flesh of the devil inside. Needles of pain assaulted its being, and it shuddered as it felt the Void and Dagon reaching out, calling him back. In an act of defiance, he ripped control of his body away from the temperature with immense pain, snapping his eyes open despite the frost. In the fogged vision, it saw a claw, and put up its blade to defend. Fire and ice danced in a deadly ballet, a battle between truly immortal forces clashed with power beyond comprehension. The world of cardboard crumpled around them as they fought with ferocity unknown by most.

And finally, in the end, the Daedra stood victorious. The blood that flowed through the veins of the dragon laid splattered on the floor, painting the pure white snow a sickening red. The devil had just enough time to catch his breath before he noticed something quite peculiar.

The flesh of the great dragon lit up with a golden flame and burnt off the pale white bones of the beast. Golden tendrils wrapped through the air…carrying some sort of energy, unlike any he had ever seen. A force not arcane or mortal. They twisted and turned in the air before rushing behind his back. The Dremora turned around…coming face to face with the mightiest warrior of Skyrim.

The Redguard calmly drew his weapon. A mace…it glowed a soft but cruel green, as the energy of Molag Bal flowed through, fueling the weapon with malice and the desire for control. On his other hand, he hefted a shield. Any mortal would guess it was of simple Dwarven make, but the Oblivion resident knew well it was the artifact Spellbreaker, forged by Peryite, and able to defend against arcana as well as melee. The setting sun framed his stature perfectly in hues of orange and yellow.

"I've been hired to send you back to the realm from which you came."


	3. Dialogue with a Dragonslayer

Voidwalker felt ashamed he did not think of this scenario earlier.

If an unexplained Daedra shows up out of nowhere and traipses through a populated city, there's truly no reason they WOULDN'T send the greatest warrior on the mortal plane to meet him in battle.

The tactical workings of the Daedra's mind set to work. Offense wasn't an option, at all. The Dragonborn was notorious for defeating Dremora, his most famous conquest being when he fought four of Dagon's best on his own shrine after getting the Razor. Plus he knew from personal experience he did not have what it took, as the hero of legend had soundly defeated him twice atop the College. Stealth was even more laughable than an offensive, with the Dovahkiin being the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, Nightingale of Nocturnal and Listener for the Dark Brotherhood, not to mention his Aura Whisper shout. He couldn't go back to Oblivion yet, so he turned to the only option he had left in his arsenal. Speechcraft.

Of course the Dragonborn could defeat him in a verbal debate, persuade him to do virtually anything and bargain him under the table, but that wasn't his weakness. The truest weakness of the mighty hero was objectives. He would follow the vaguest lead to the depths of Oblivion just for the possibility of treasure, friends, or just because someone told him to. This subservient attitude got him in good with the Daedric Princes, seeing how his armory was decorated with their powerful artifacts. So the only thing Voidwalker had to do was make him think more was to be gained from having him alive than dead.

Easier said than done.

"I surrender, and ask that you hear me out, warrior." The Dremora slowly lay down his sword. It steamed and melted the snow below. He raised his fearsome Daedric gauntlets to the sky hesitantly.

Never one to give up a chat, the Dragonborn lowered his weapon. "What is it that you want?"

"An audience with you, before you banish me. I'd like to propose a truce, of sorts. For a short while, I shall accompany you and help you defeat the enemies in your way, if you will take me to the Twilight Sepulcher."

An awkward silence followed. The Daedra would have held his breath, if he had lungs. Or blood that needed to be oxygenated. Or…biological processes in general.

"Remind me…where exactly is that?"

The Dremora had to bite back his pure disbelief as the words of the Nightingale of Nocturnal claimed he had no knowledge of his most sacred temple. "Nocturnal's sacred temple, where the Skeleton Key is stored and protected by her honorable thralls, the Nightingales."

The Dragonborn chuckled. "Very little honor among thieves, you know. Thank you for jogging my memory…it's been a while since I went there. But there are three important things I want to ask, so as to go along instead of cut you down and collect the bounty. First of all: Why would you even want to come close to the temple of Nocturnal? Don't get me wrong, I don't know much about Daedra. But wouldn't that be like Heimskr praying to Dagon? It would be strange at best, and blasphemy at worst."

Slowly getting frustrated at his uncomprehending, shortsighted, mortal brain, the Dremora replied in a shaky voice, "Dagon is already rather infuriated at my conduct. This small offense will not matter in the grand scheme of my betrayal. The sigil stone you made me retrieve is not necessarily the issue, it's that I betrayed my lord by retrieving it. However, I left before my lord could get truly angry, in the interest of my own safety. It would be useful to know how he is acting about my transgression. So the easiest way to learn that is through an audience with another Daedric Prince."

The Redguard was very interested already. Such a quest would be challenging to undertake. "Why would you need to travel with me?"

"Out of all the Daedric Princes, Nocturnal is the one most likely to respond to us, especially if we take the Pilgrim's Path. She's the only one who greeted you with a full avatar, instead of simply talking through a statue, or aspect."

"What about Sheogorath or Sanguine? They appeared with avatars."

"I do not deal with the princes of madness and debauchery. It is ridiculous enough that I am even considering meeting with the Lady of Shadows." Voidwalker shuddered at the mere thought.

"Alright then. My final question is this." Hefting the mace once more, the dragonslaying war machine grinned. "What do I get out of this? Why should I even consider your offer at all, thrall of Dagon?"

There were no mortal words to describe the pure extent of anxiety that Voidwalker was feeling, confronting the legendary warrior with wordplay. One mistake…if he said the wrong thing here, it could destroy any chance he may have had on Nirn. "You could have my…sword?"

…

"Done." With complete sincerity and seriousness in his voice, the Dovakiin agreed.

"Wait, seriously? You'd do that for a sword?"

"Did I stutter?"

And thus, a shaky partnership was formed. Carefully hiking down the mountain, the two adventurers set off in what might be the most ridiculously unlikely partnership ever formed in the entirety of the Aurbis.

(A/N: Alright, I have a couple things I want to say. The Dragonborn will not be an incredibly serious character. I built him to reflect the would-be player, and their thoughts/actions. Also, in this fanfic, none of the DLC's have happened yet. Partly because I don't own them, and partly because I'm saving them in case of a major plot point later. So the Dragonborn is not a thrall of Mora quite yet. See you all in…whenever the next chapter is. I really need to update more…)


End file.
